The Complete Works of Isaac Babel Reprint Edition by Isaac Babel, Nathalie Babel, Peter Constantine (101 page)

DIMSHITS enters in a fur coat, carrying packages.]

DIMSHITS: Greetings, General! Greetings, Katerina Vyacheslavovna! Is Ludmila Nikolayevna at home?

KATYA: She is expecting you.

LUDMILA [From behind the screen.]: I am dressing. . . .

DIMSHITS: Greetings, Ludmila Nikolayevna! The weather outside is so bad that no man would send his dog out in it. Hypolite drove me here, he talked my ears off, nothing but jabbering—what a strange bird! Isnt it getting late, Ludmila Nikolayevna?

MUKOVNIN: Its broad daylight, and they re off to the theater?

KATYA: Theaters start now at five in the afternoon.

MUKOVNIN: Saving on electricity, are they?

KATYA: Yes, they re saving on electricity. And then, if people go home late they re likely to get robbed.

DIMSHITS [Unwrapping his packages.]: Here is a nice leg of ham, General. It s not my specialty, but they told me it was corn-fed. Now, whether they fed it with corn or something else, its not like I was there or anything.

[KATYA goes to a corner and smokes a cigarette.]

* Count Alexei Andreyevich Arakcheyev, 1769-1834, was a general and politician whose brutal tactics in reorganizing the Russian army led to his dismissal.

t Ivan Kalita [Ivan the Moneybag.] ruled Moscovy from 1325 to 1341, expanding Russian territory eastward into the trans-Volga regions.

MUKOVNIN: I must say, Isaac Markovich, you are being too good to us.

DIMSHITS: Some cracklings?

MUKOVNIN [Not understanding.]: Begging your pardon?

DIMSHITS: Im sure they didnt serve no cracklings at your papas table, but back in Minsk, in Vilsk, in Chernobyl, cracklings are held in the highest esteem. They are bits of goose. Have some and give me your opinion. . . . How is your book doing, General?

MUKOVNIN: The book is moving ahead. I have reached the reign of Czar Alexander I.

LUDMILA: It reads just like a novel, Isaac Markovich. In my opinion, it is reminiscent of War and Peace—the part where Tolstoy talks about the soldiers.

DIMSHITS: That’s very nice to hear. Let them shoot in the streets, General, let them bang their heads against the walls—just keep on working. Finish the book and Til throw you a feast, and I’ll buy up the first hundred copies! How about a delicieux petit piece of sausage, General—its homemade sausage, a German gave it to me—

MUKOVNIN: Isaac Markovich, you mustn’t! I will become angry!

DIMSHITS: It would be a great honor if General Mukovnin were to get angry at me. It is an exquisite sausage! This German was quite a renowned professor, now he specializes in sausages. . . . Ludmila Nikolayevna, I have a strong feeling we’ll be late.

LUDMILA [From behind the screen.]: I am ready.

MUKOVNIN: How much do I owe you, Isaac Markovich?

DIMSHITS: You dont owe me the horseshoe of the horse that dropped dead on Nevsky Prospekt earlier today.

MUKOVNIN: No, I am being serious, how much?

DIMSHITS: You are being serious? Fine—then lets make it two horseshoes from two horses.

[LUDMILA appears from behind the screen.

She is dazzlingly beautiful, well built, with rosy cheeks.

She is wearing diamond earrings and a sleeveless black velvet dress.]

MUKOVNIN: Isn’t my daughter beautiful, Isaac Markovich?

DIMSHITS: I wouldn’t say she isn’t.

KATYA: She is a real Russian beauty, that’s what she is, Isaac Markovich.

DIMSHITS: It’s not my specialty, but I can see the quality.

MUKOVNIN: I also want to introduce you to my older daughter, Maria.

LUDMILA: I must warn you, Maria is the favorite here, and yet, believe it or not, our favorite went off to join the army.

MUKOVNIN: What are you talking about, Ludmila, darling? She joined the army’s Political Propaganda Division.*

DIMSHITS: Your Excellency—anything you want to know about the Political Propaganda Division, you ask me! They are soldiers too.

KATYA [Taking LUDMILA to the side.]: I would not wear those earrings if I were you.

LUDMILA: You think so?

KATYA: Of course not. Don’t forget there’s that dinner afterward. . . .

LUDMILA: Have no fear, ma chere. No need to teach a Viennese how to waltz. [She kisses KATYA.] Katyusha, you sweet, silly girl. [To DIMSHITS.] My boots. [She turns away and takes off her earrings.]

DIMSHITS [Rushing to help her.]: At your service!

[Sheputs on her boots, fur coat, and knitted wool kerchief.

DIMSHITS eagerly bustles about, helping her.]

LUDMILA: I still can’t believe that we haven’t sold all these things yet. Papa, don’t forget to take your medicine. And Katya, don’t let him do any work.

MUKOVNIN: Katya and I are going to spend a cozy evening at home.

LUDMILA [Kisses herfather on the forehead..]: How do you like my papa, Isaac Markovich? Isn’t he precious?

DIMSHITS: The general is not a mere man, he is a jewel!

LUDMILA: We are the only ones who truly appreciate him. Where did you leave Prince Hypolite?

DIMSHITS: I left him outside the door. I ordered him to wait there, it’s a question of discipline. We’ll be there in a minute. So long, Nikolai Vasilevich!

KATYA: Don’t drink too much.

DIMSHITS: We won’t—there’s not much chance of that nowadays.

* Polit-otdel, a political organ of the new Soviet government charged with the ideological education of the military during the Russian Civil War and the Russian-Polish War of 1920.

LUDMILA: Good-bye, Papa, darling.

[GENERAL MUKOVNIN escorts DIMSHITS and his daughter to the front hall; voices and laughter are heard. MUKOVNIN returns.]

MUKOVNIN: What a charming and virtuous Jew.

KATYA [Curled up at the edge of the sofa, smoking.]: They all seem to be somewhat lacking in tact.

MUKOVNIN: Katya, darling! Where do you expect them to have picked up tact? They were only allowed to live on one side of the street, and if they ever crossed over to the other side, the police would immediately chase them back. That is how it used to be in Kiev on Bibikovsky Boulevard. So where do you expect them to have picked up tact? What is really surprising is their energy, their vitality, their resilience!

KATYA: That energy has poured into Russian life. But we, after all, are different. Its all so foreign to us.

MUKOVNIN: One thing that isnt foreign to us is fatalism. Another, that Rasputin and the German Czarina destroyed the Romanov dynasty. And yet nothing but good has come from that wonderful Jewish race, which has given us Heine, Spinoza, and Christ.

KATYA: You used to praise the Japanese too, Nikolai Vasilevich.

MUKOVNIN: The Japanese? They are a great nation, there is much we can learn from them!

KATYA: It is clear enough who Maria takes after. You are a Bolshevik, Nikolai Vasilevich.

MUKOVNIN: I am a Russian officer, Katya, and I ask the simple question: gentlemen, please tell me when it was that the rules of war became foreign to you? We tortured and murdered these people, is what I tell them, they defended themselves, they attacked, fighting with resourcefulness, circumspection, desperation—they are fighting in the name of an ideal, Katya!

KATYA: An ideal? Im not so sure about that. Were unhappy, and it doesn’t look like that will change. We’ve been sacrificed, Nikolai Vasilevich.

MUKOVNIN: So let them shake up Russia’s Vanyas and Petrushkas. That would be wonderful. Time is running out, Katya. Peter the Great, the only true Russian Czar, once said, “Delay is death!” What a maxim. And if this is so, my dear fellow officers, shouldn’t you have the courage to look at your field maps and figure out which of your flanks faltered, and where and why you were defeated? I have a right to look the truth in the eye, and I shall not renounce that right.

KATYA: You have to take your medicine.

MUKOVNIN: What I tell my comrades in arms, the men I fought shoulder to shoulder with is, “Tirez vos conclusion.s*—delay is death!”

[He exits. Next door a Bach fugue is being played coldly and with precision on a cello. KATYA listens, then gets up and walks over to the telephone.]

KATYA: Could you connect me with the District Headquarters? . . . Redko, please. ... Is that you, Redko? ... I just wanted to tell you . . . Dont forget you’re not the only man fighting for the Revolution, and yet you’re the only one who never has time to see a person ... a person at whose house you spend the night whenever you need to.... [Pause.] Take me out, Redko. Come and pick me up in your car. . . . Well, if you’re busy . . . No, I’m not angry. Why should I be angry?

[She hangs up. The music stops. GOLITSYN, a lanky man in a soldiers jacket and leg wrappings, enters, carrying a cello.]

KATYA: What did they tell you in the tavern—“Don’t play weepy tunes”?

GOLITSYN: “Don’t play weepy tunes, don’t pull at our heartstrings.

KATYA: They need something cheerful, Sergei Hilarionovich. People want to forget their worries, they want to rest. . . .

GOLITSYN: Not all of them. Some ask for plaintive tunes.

KATYA [Seats herself at the piano.]: What kind of audience do you have?

GOLITSYN: Dockworkers from the Obvodny Canal.

KATYA: I suppose you go to their trade union. . . . They give you some supper there, dont they?

*“Draw your own conclusions.”

GOLITSYN: Yes, they do.

KATYA [Plays a popular tune.]:

“Through wind and wave our ship sails free,

As we throw the damn Whites to the fish in the sea. ”

Try playing this. It should go down well at that tavern of yours.

[GOLITSYN tries to play the tune, misses a few notes, then gets it right.]

KATYA: Would it be worth me learning stenography, mon prince'? GOLITSYN: Stenography? I have no idea.

KATYA:

“I sit on a barrel crying tears of dismay,

The boys dont want marriage,

Just a roll in the hay.
^M

They need stenographers right now.

GOLITSYN: I wouldn’t know. \He tries to follow her tune.]

KATYA: Maria is the only true woman of all of us. She is strong, gutsy, a real woman. We sit around here sighing, while she’s happy in her Political Propaganda Division.... What have people come up with to replace happiness? There isn’t anything.

GOLITSYN: Maria Nikolayevna has always sat in the driver’s seat. That’s always been her strong point.

KATYA: And right she is.

“Oh sweet little apple, whither did you roll?”

And then, she is involved with Akim Ivanich.

GOLITSYN [K tops playing.]: Who is this Akim Ivanich?

KATYA: Their division commander, a former blacksmith. She mentions him in every letter.

GOLITSYN: How do you know she’s involved with him?

KATYA: I have read it between the lines, I’m certain of it. . . . Or should I maybe move to my family in Borisoglebsk? At least it’s home.

You, for instance, you go to that monastery to see that monk—what was his name?

GOLITSYN: Sioni.

KATYA: Yes, to Father Sioni. What does he teach you?

GOLITSYN: You just mentioned happiness. Well, he teaches me that there is no happiness in having power over people, or in this never-ending greed—this unquenchable greed.

KATYA: Lets play, Sergei Hilarionovich!

“I sit on my barrel,

While the market hags bicker,

Not a kopeck in my pocket But Tm thirsty for liquor. ”

Sioni is a beautiful name.

Scene Three

LUDMILA and DIMSHITS in his hotel room. Bottles and the remains of their meal stand on the table. Part of an adjacent room is visible in which BISHONKOV, FILIP, and EVSTIGNEVICH are playing cards. EVSTIGNEVICH s little invalid cart has been placed on a chair; his legs, amputated above the knee, are jutting out.

LUDMILA: Felix Yusupov* was as beautiful as a god—a tennis player, a Russian champion. Though his beauty was not really masculine enough . . . there was something doll-like about it. Well, I met Vladimir Bagalei at Felixs. Right to the very end the Czar simply could not understand what a gallant nature that man had. We used to call him the “Teutonic Knight.” Fredriks^ was a friend of Prince Sergei, you know Prince Sergei—he’s the one who plays the cello. That evening there was another surprise hors programme: Archbishop Ambrosii. The old man started flirting with me, can you imagine? He kept topping up my glass and peering at me with such a crafty, pious twinkle in his eye! At first Vladimir was not particularly impressed with me. “In my eyes you were only a snub-

* Prince Felix Yusupov, 1887-1967, gained international notoriety for his involvement in the assassination of Rasputin.

t Count Vladimir Borisovich Fredriks, 1832-1927, descendant of a distinguished line of Baltic barons, was Czar Nicholas II’s Minister of the Imperial Court and Domains.

nosed little girl,” he admitted, “si demesurement russe
³
with flushed cheeks.” At dawn we drove out to the Czar’s palace at Tsarskoye Selo, left the car in the park, and rode on in a buggy. Vladimir drove it himself. “I could not take my eyes off of you all evening, Ludmila Nikolayevna.” “Of which Nina Buturlina is well aware, mon prince!
⁹
I knew they were having a liaison—more probably a flirtation. “Buturlina, cest lepassed “On revient toujours a sespremiers amours, mon prince!
⁹
Vladimir had never been accorded the title of Grand Duke, as he was the offspring of a morganatic marriage, and the Czarina refused to meet his family. Vladimir always called her “an evil genius.” Furthermore, he was a poet, naive, and had no head for politics. We arrived at Tsarskoye Selo. It was dawn. Somewhere, right over the pond, a nightingale was singing. Vladimir told me again: “Mademoiselle Boutourline cest le passed “The past, mon prince, has a tendency to return at times, and when it does, it does so with a vengeance.”

[DIMSHITS turns out the light, pushes LUDMILA back onto the sofa, and throws himself on her: There is a struggle.

She frees herself straightens her hair; her dress. ]

BISHONKOV [Throws down a card.]: Try beating this!

FILIP: Nope, no one can beat that!

EVSTIGNEVICH: Well, they lead him up to the fence, his hands tied. “So, my friend,” they tell him. “Turn around!” And he tells them, “There’s no need for me to turn around. I’m a fighting man, finish me off as I am.” Their fence is just a tiny wattle fence, really, about hip high. It’s night, they’re at the edge of the village, beyond the village are the steppes, at the edge of the steppes is a forest—